


Believer and a Homecoming

by lsdme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, Future Fic, M/M, did i mention the beards?, explicit peace, gratuitous beards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lsdme/pseuds/lsdme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m serious Derek,” Stiles whispers. “Come home.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believer and a Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely Accol. 
> 
> Thanks to Andria, Ulrike, and Ashley for some beta and cheerleading work.

Derek dreams of him sometimes. Dreams of what he must look like now and how his voice might sound because in his head he still sounds like a young man. Sometimes in the dreams they’re just in the same room, enjoying the quiet, and sometimes they’re together with friends laughing and happy. Tonight is one of the nights when it’s neither; tonight is one of the nights when everything is dark and hot and their breathing is so loud that no other sounds exist. When the pressure and warmth spreading from where they’re connected becomes so much that Derek cries out at the spark igniting between them. Derek dreams of Stiles. 

It was an emergency that drew him away from town, not like that means anything now as most of the major events in Derek’s life have started out that way. It’d be like saying “It was a Tuesday,” but then Derek never did like Tuesdays. 

He had left Beacon Hills with Peter and Cora. He wanted to help Peter, to really help him, but after twelve years and a lot of bloodshed later, Peter was dead, Cora had fallen in love somewhere along the way and left, and Derek was alone again. All he had was an apartment on the outskirts of a middle-of-nowhere town and ghosts in his memories, echoes of a happier time. 

Alone wasn’t something that frightened Derek, though. He could be alone, only now he knew again what it was like to have a bit of family back in his life. It was the fear of lonesomeness seeping back into his heart that frightened him and kept him up at night. 

Being lonely was something else altogether. 

But deep inside Derek secretly had one other thing, something that he kept hidden in the depths of his heart. He knew that he also had Stiles, as much as anyone can have someone they hadn’t seen in years, that is. 

It had been three months since Derek last spoke to someone who wasn’t a grocery store clerk, but then a clipped “Hi” and “Thanks” didn’t quite count as speaking. He doesn’t know what it is that finally makes him decide to scroll through his phone’s contacts and pray that the number he’s searching for still works. 

_Ring_

Derek’s heart thumps loudly in his chest. 

_Ring_

He can hang up now and forget this ever happened. 

_Ring_

ShitShitShit

_Ring_

When the phone picks up silence falls. Derek can hear the slightly unsteady breathing on the other end. Something about it immediately calms him, he takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. 

“Well are you going to say anything?” Stiles asks, his voice is lower, there’s a gravely quality to it, but it is unmistakably him. He sounds curious, not angry or sarcastic. 

“Stiles,” Derek says eventually. “Hi.” 

A small huff on the other end of the receiver turns into a laugh and Derek wishes he could picture Stiles laughing now but he can only imagine how he has aged.

“Twelve years and he says ‘Hi’,” Stiles’ voice is full of warmth though and Derek isn’t sure what he ever did to deserve that. “Hi Derek.” 

Derek smiles, because yeah, he has Stiles. 

Two nights later they’re on the phone again. 

It’s too late but Stiles called and Derek answered. He listens as Stiles tells him about everybody. His dad isn’t Sheriff any longer, but still consults for the force, Scott and Allison got married, Lydia moved away and Stiles isn’t sure quite where she’s at. They haven’t heard her scream in years, but he knows she’s still alive. Apparently Stiles is teaching at the high school now, which surprises Derek because he always thought Stiles would be the one to get out. Derek asks about Isaac because he knows he feels loss more profoundly than the others but Stiles assures him that he’s fine. In turn, Derek tells Stiles about Peter’s death and Cora getting married, he tells him almost nothing else because there’s nothing else to tell. 

“Couldn’t you have joined packs with Cora?” Stiles asks. “You’re a blood relative.” 

Derek doesn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt right to do so, _that he already has a pack._ He had no connection to her husband’s family, they weren’t his home, they weren’t his brothers. 

Derek is laying on his couch as infomercials play quietly on his television when Stiles suggests it. 

“Maybe you should come back,” Stiles says, his voice sure but Derek can hear the way it softly catches and holds. 

Derek would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t considered it hundreds of times over the years. But what would he do there? The loft would be long gone, and the house on the preserve...he didn’t know if that could be a home for him after everything. He wasn’t even sure _home_ was something he’d ever feel again. 

Derek changes the channel on the tv, one infomercial to another, the joys of watching television at three a.m. Stiles is speaking quietly in his ear, his voice scratchy in the late hour, the sound of somebody who wished they were asleep. 

“I’m serious Derek,” Stiles whispers. “Come home.” 

“Home,” Derek repeats, his heart beating once hard in his chest. 

Stiles breathing is even through the receiver. “Yeah. Home,” Stiles repeats again. 

“I can hear you over-thinking this, Derek,” Stiles tells him, no humor in this voice. This wasn’t a joke and Stiles wasn’t mocking him. 

The thought scares Derek though. He knows that if he sees Stiles again he won’t want to leave his side, wouldn’t be able to imagine his life any other way than like they are in his dreams. And if Stiles doesn’t want that, or doesn’t want him, he could deal with that fine if he could just be near him again. 

“I guess I could…,” he pauses. “I’d have to speak to Scott as the alpha of….” 

Stiles interrupts him with a suddenly loud and indignant “Fuck that!”

Derek startles and drops the remote.

“I’m not going to have you ask _permission_ to enter Beacon Hills, Derek Hale. This was your land before Scott was bit, and as far as I’m concerned he’s just the caretaker. You’re coming home, you’re going to park your grumpy ass on my couch for at least a week or so help me god I will do everything in my power….”

“Stiles,” Derek breaks in, completely unable to hide the smile in his voice or caring that Stiles can probably hear it. He exhales hard as he closes his eyes. “Okay.” 

It takes Derek three days to make it back. 

Beacon Hills smells the same as it ever did. There’s a little more industry there and less forest, but development happens and he guesses the town is better for it. He thought he’d feel tense when he got back, but his body relaxes like it knows it’s where it belongs. “Traitor,” Derek says out loud as he rolls down the rest of his windows and lets the air engulf him as he drives. 

Stiles told him that he would be home around 4 p.m. at an address that Derek didn’t recognize. He wonders, not for the first time, if Stiles is with somebody. He didn’t ask and Stiles didn’t mention anything in their phone calls but he can’t help but worry that he will be walking into _their_ home, whoever this mysterious person is in Derek’s mind who has won Stiles. In his head Derek can picture Stiles and a wife, two-point-five children and a dog, a weird cookie cutter life that makes Derek ache. 

He thinks about what he might find in Beacon Hills as he drives past the old gas station on the edge of town, and past the cemetary and the old church that border each other as he silently greets his family as the wind blows. 

There’s an hour left to kill so he continues on and drives out to the preserve. The path to the house is overgrown, but still beautiful. He is hit with such a feeling of wonder at why he ever thought that leaving was a good idea. As he walks through the woods, the leaves crunch under his feet and he can feel his family all around him. He sits at the base of a tree with the house just visible in the corner of his eye and breathes. 

When he eventually gets up to leave he whispers goodbyes to those he lost. He drives in silence, not daring to break the first actual peace he’s felt in years. 

The turn-off for Stiles’ house is easy enough to find. Slowly Derek can smell that this land belongs to Stiles, his scent filling the woods along the drive up to the house. _His territory_ , Derek thinks. 

The house is a simple two-story home with a front porch and a swing. He doesn’t see a car anywhere, so he knows he’s beat Stiles home. Derek contemplates driving around more so he’s not waiting here when Stiles arrives, but he’s there now and the thought of driving away makes his stomach turn. 

He kills the engine and gets out, the scent is stronger out of the car. As he walks towards the house he catches the scent of Scott and Allison, and something that is distinctly ScottandAllison which has to be their child. He can also smell Stiles’ father and Isaac. What surprises him the most though is that he’s not picking up on any scent he doesn’t recognize. It’s as if Stiles has built himself a fort here that none but a trusted few are allowed to enter. 

Derek doesn’t let his hands shake when he thinks about what it means that Stiles is letting him come here. 

Part of him feels like an intruder as he steps up onto the porch, but the overwhelming smell of pack presses up against his sense memory and he feels completely relaxed as he eases himself down onto the porch swing. He tilts his head back and swings, kicking off softly with his boot. 

Under normal circumstances he would be embarrassed that he didn't hear Stiles' jeep until the engine shut off, but there's nothing normal about what's happening. Or at least it’s a sort of normal that Derek barely remembers from before the fire. 

Derek stands up, not wanting to be sitting down when he sees Stiles for the first time in over a decade. He places both hands on the bannister and freezes as Stiles stares back at him from the driver's seat of his jeep. The sun is reflecting off the glass, but Derek can make out his eyes, can almost see the whiskey color in them from this distance. 

It's only when Stiles steps out from behind the door and into full view that Derek wonders for a second if he's at the right place. The man he's looking at is a little taller than Derek now, his shoulders look broad in the off-white henley he's wearing, Stiles’ waist narrows just like it did in his youth though. What really grabs Derek is the beard. He wants to look everywhere at once, but his eyes keep coming back to it. 

Immediately Derek can feel the nerves starting to build and the itch under his skin to reach out and touch. This is the reason he came back; this is who he came back for and Derek is worried he’s missed too much time and _this_ Stiles might not even be the same as he once was.

But then Stiles begins to walk and Derek _knows_ it's him. He'd recognize the way Stiles moves anywhere, he holds his body just as he did before, like he's trying to both make a point and blend into the background. It's so incongruous that Derek can feel himself begin to smile, just a corner of his mouth curving up. 

"Sorry I'm late," Stiles says, grabbing the bannister as he walks up the steps. His voice is even deeper in person than it was on the phone. 

Derek shrugs. "It's not a problem," he says, his voice a little stiffer than he wanted, but he suddenly feels very out of place as a chorus of _what now_ begins caroling in his head. 

But Stiles just shakes his head and pulls him into a hug. Derek lets himself be wrapped up as he slides his arms around Stiles' middle. He breathes in deep and slowly exhales letting his body relax further. The way they fit together feels right. Stiles' beard grazes his ear and he tries not to shiver when he realizes that either unconsciously or consciously Stiles is scenting him. Derek lets his hand curl into the back of Stiles’ shirt and moves his head a little so that his nose is buried in the hair right behind Stiles’ ear. 

"Welcome home," Stiles whispers.

Derek just nods, happy to be there. 

“How was the drive?” Stiles asks as he leads Derek in through the living room and back towards the kitchen. Derek is trying to take it all in. The space looks comfortable, lived in, with books stacked high along the far wall on either side of a fireplace. He pauses when he sees a picture tucked on the side of a bookshelf of most of the pack, himself on the side with his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose, a tiny amused smile on his face. He doesn’t remember when it was taken. 

“Derek?” 

He looks up to find Stiles is standing in the doorway to the kitchen with his arm held out. “You coming?” Derek nods, follows after him, and feels for a second like he’d be fine following Stiles anywhere. 

The kitchen is bright and open, and the leaves outside are casting shadows on the floor. It reminds him of what his house used to be like. Stiles’ hand on his forearm brings him back to the present. 

“Sorry,” Derek clears his throat. “Your house is beautiful.”

Stiles smiles at him, “It’s alright.” 

But Derek can see the pride on his face; he still looks so young even with the beard. “I’m surprised you don’t live in town. What made you want to be all the way out here?” 

“Too many people in town,” Stiles says lightly and shrugs, his hand falling off of Derek’s arm as they sit down at the table. “It’s quiet out here. Easier to breathe, you know?” 

Derek nods because he does know. 

“So!” Stiles starts, “You’re here and I’m hungry. I’m going to cook and you will sit there and tell me everything you’ve been doing. At some point Scott will show up because there’s no way you driving through town today won’t get back to him, and then….”

“You didn’t tell Scott?” Derek interrupts him, surprised. 

The tips of Stiles’ ears turn red, it’s subtle and if Derek hadn’t been looking so intently at him he would have missed it altogether. 

“Not my place to tell,” Stiles says first, then softer. “I didn’t think you’d want a bunch of people in your face the second you came back. It’s easier like this.” _Just the two of us,_ implied in the spaces between the words. 

“Thanks,” Derek tells him, finally giving into the itch and placing his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. It’s an innocent gesture, one he’s seen between friends hundreds of times. But as he does it he feels secure. His flexes his fingers minutely and then squeezes Stiles’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he reiterates, the weight in his words evident. It’s as if he’s thanking him for remembering who he was that first day in the woods _“Dude, that’s Derek Hale”_ when he didn’t think he’d be able to go on after Laura’s death; for how they’ve always understood each other, _“abomination”_ he can hear Stiles say in his head; the way Stiles’ hand felt on his shoulder as he wept over Boyd’s body; his fingers lightly dancing on Derek’s forearm that terrible night in the hospital with all the alpha’s when he thought he’d lost Cora again forever; and for saying _“Come home.”_

And Stiles gets it, because he was there for all of those things too, he knows their history and what they’ve been through. His hand is warm through Derek’s jeans as he places it right above his knee and squeezes. There’s a spark there in his touch that Derek wants to grab and keep hold of.

“You’re the same, but different,” Derek whispers.

Stiles shakes his head, “No I’m not.” 

“You’re not what?” Derek asks because what’s happening here is big and he can feel it. “You’re not different or you’re not the same?” 

“I’m not who I was twelve years ago, that’s for sure.”

“You’re right,” Derek says, “You’re not.” And because he wants to he lifts his hand and knocks a couple of his knuckles against Stiles’ cheek, his handle tingles against the whiskers on Stiles’ face. “This is new.”

Stiles laughs and playfully shoves Derek away. 

“You’re one to talk,” Stiles says as he stands up. “You’re so scruffy I’m not even sure you have cheeks.” 

“I’m cold a lot, it keeps me warm,” Derek says, trying to keep his voice serious. 

“Oh my god, you’re the absolute worst,” Stiles chuckles, walking past Derek, the back of his hand touching Derek’s neck for a split second. Derek feels the heat lingering on his skin in the wake of the touch. 

Stiles freezes and looks towards the front of the house before whispering, “That was quick.” Derek barely has a chance to wonder what he’s talking about when he hears a car pulling up the drive. 

“Scott,” Stiles tells him, moving to put a pot of coffee on. 

“How did you…?” Derek begins to ask because Stiles didn’t used to be able to do that, and if he’s being completely honest, it’s kind of hot. But Stiles just waves a hand at him and mumbles a half explanation about how his spark mingled with being an emissary lets him sense select people. It’s such an off-hand, throw away sentence that Derek knows it’s more important than Stiles is letting on. But that will have to wait because there’s a knock on the door and Stiles is saying, “Come on in, Scott,” as he watches the coffee drip while Derek feels in no way prepared for Scott McCall. 

When he walks into the house Derek can sense his strength, his eyebrows raising out of surprise as he looks up at where Stiles is leaning against the counter. “I know, right?” Stiles mouths.

Scott begins talking before he’s even closed the front door behind him. “Derek?” he calls out. 

Derek’s probably got six seconds before Scott makes it to the kitchen and decides to remain seated because it’s a less threatening stance and while it is just Scott, he’s still the Alpha. He’s facing out from the table with one arm across the back of the chair next to him when Scott walks in. 

He looks about the same as he did last time Derek saw him, just a little taller, his face still looks young. Scott steals a glance over at Stiles, but focuses everything on Derek. “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Isaac is going to freak out,” Scott keeps asking questions without pausing for an answers before he stops and hauls Derek up from his seat and into a bracing hug. “Welcome home, man.” 

Derek’s taken aback by the ease in which Scott accepts his return. They parted on pretty good terms, but time does things to people and he could have hated Derek, but apparently he doesn’t. “It’s good to see you,” Derek tells him. 

Stiles begins talking quickly beside them. “Hi Stiles, how are you? Good? Good. How are you Scott? Great? Yeah Derek’s back. How’d you hear? Oh you know, I have to be the eyes and the ears of Beacon Hills...”

Scott rolls his eyes. “I talk to you like twenty times a day,” Scott says, playfully punching Stiles’ arm. “Ignore him, he tried to keep this a secret.” 

“Managed to,” Stiles announces, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. 

When Derek smiles at him and he smiles back it feels like progress towards a goal that neither one of them thought they’d ever reach judging by the way Stiles’ heart leaps. 

“Seriously, man, how long are you back for?” Scott asks as he walks over to grab a coffee cup out of the cabinet. Derek’s eyes flick to Stiles before looking back at Scott and he shrugs. “Depends, I guess.” 

“You know you’re … shit this is going to sound pretentious… but you know you can stay in Beacon Hills as long as you want, right?” Scott tells him. “I’m sure you were raised thinking you needed permission from the Alpha to move into a territory, but you never stopped being a part of this pack as far as we’re concerned.”

At that Stiles put his arm around Derek, his hand coming to rest high on top of his shoulder. “Told you,” Stiles whispers, before moving his thumb idly along the back of Derek’s neck. 

“Thanks, I’ll … we’ll see,” Derek says, his senses overcome with the closeness he feels towards these two, the first people he let back into his life after Laura. He never thought he’d feel this way again, but here in Stiles’ kitchen on a late afternoon in October he feels safe. 

Scott stays for an hour and tells Derek all about Allison and their girls, about the creatures that have made their way through Beacon Hills in the last couple years. It got quiet about five years before and has been relatively peaceful ever since. Derek listens and interjects where he can, but mostly he just soaks it all in. 

Halfway through one of Scott’s stories Derek realizes that Stiles is quietly touching him at random intervals. There’s a hand on his arm, a pat on his leg when he wants to make sure Derek is hearing a certain part of a story, slim fingers dancing along his back. Stiles has been scenting him from the beginning, and Derek wonders at first if he knows he’s doing it, but there’s no way he doesn’t realize. 

There’s no way. 

There’s also no way Scott hasn’t noticed, but he doesn’t let on and Stiles doesn’t stop. Derek finds that he’s leaning towards Stiles, his body gradually relaxing, drawn into this source of comfort and warmth. His thigh is pressed against Stiles’ making him realize how close they’ve been sitting, the two of them on one side of the table, Scott on the other, empty coffee cups between them. 

When Scott notices the time he gets up to leave. Derek stands, his hand finding Stiles’ shoulder as he moves around the table to say goodbye. He doesn’t miss how Scott looks to Stiles at this, they never were subtle about their non-verbal conversations, but Derek wants his scent on Stiles just as much as Stiles has been trying to get his onto Derek, so he doesn’t care if it’s all obvious. 

“Come by tomorrow,” Scott says to Derek, shaking hands in what Derek thinks is a very bro sort of way. “I know Allison will want to see you.”

“I will,” Derek tells him. 

“Good, I’m going to hold you to that,” Scott says. 

“We’ll be there,” Stiles interjects as he’s grabbing the cups from the table and carrying them over to the sink. 

Derek and Scott’s eyes meet, both of them noticing that Stiles said “we” in such an unconscious way. Scott nods and claps Derek on the shoulder once before turning to go. “Bye Stiles.” 

“See ya,” Stiles calls over his shoulder from where he’s rinsing out the cups now. 

“So. Dinner,” Stiles says, looking over at Derek. “What do you want?” 

Derek doesn’t know quite how to answer that. He wants a lot of things and even though he knows Stiles is talking about food and he should just say something like hamburgers or pizza is fine, but all he can think is _you_ and _you_ and _you._

“Pizza?”

That night as they sit on the couch. Derek’s legs are stretched out to rest on the coffee table and Stiles has his back against the opposite arm of the couch, his legs are bent up with his feet shoved underneath the middle cushion for warmth while they talk. 

It was a thing with them, talking in the dead of night when the rest of the world around them was asleep. Before Derek left they would do this because neither of them could sleep and they both needed someone to keep them grounded in the dead of night. Stiles never could shake the darkness fully, he often told Derek that he could still feel it in his core, a coldness that kept him awake in the early hours. So they talked each other through the darkness, and though Stiles had other people in his life, his father and Scott, Derek didn’t feel like he had anybody he could truly confide in...

No...he had Stiles.

Which is how he finds himself laying on one end of Stiles’ couch talking about Peter dying and Cora leaving, trying to move on and doing well until he was left behind again, his fingers brushing against the soft flannel of Stiles’ pants. 

Stiles tells him he still has nightmares. “I moved out here because I wake up screaming sometimes. Imagine how the people I lived next to in my first few apartments reacted…. It was just easier to remove myself.”

He learns that night that Stiles dreams of him too.

However instead of the peaceful dreams that Derek has, Stiles’ dreams are full of violence and terror. Derek finds himself gripping Stiles’ ankle as he speaks. His touch letting Stiles know that he’s there, alive, warm and safe. They stay like that, sitting in the dim lamplight, not speaking, Derek grounding Stiles to the present. It’s quiet and Derek can feel himself sinking into the comfort.

“I dream of you too,” Derek mumbles before falling asleep.

When he wakes up there’s a blanket over him and both his legs are on the couch. Stiles must have moved him after he fell asleep. Derek stretches his body, burying his face even deeper into the pillow he’s using…. which, that’s new too because it definitely wasn’t there before. It smells so deeply of Stiles that Derek closes his eyes again and just breathes as he burrows himself further into the back of the couch. 

As Derek becomes more and more aware he realizes he doesn’t hear Stiles. Scanning the room he find a clock and sees that it’s almost noon. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept past sun-up. There’s a note for him on the coffee table and he does not smile as he lifts it up to read. 

_“Hey sleepyhead, Have a massive test I need to give today so I couldn’t take the day off. Eat whatever you can find. School gets out at 2:30._ Then in big block letters at the bottom _DON’T.LEAVE.TOWN._

Derek grabs his phone off the table from where he set it last night and texts Stiles, “Sleepyhead?” before going to shower. 

He uses Stiles’ shampoo, all the hot water, and does his best not to rifle through the cabinets afterwards. He’s standing barefoot in the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee and some toast when he hears his text alert. 

“Sleeping Beauty seemed a bit forward,” the text reads.

“That would make you Prince Charming,” Derek texts back, wondering exactly what his life is that he’s even having this conversation with any human being. 

“Well Duh!” is all he gets in return, but it makes him laugh. He’s probably too old to be laughing alone in a house that isn’t his over a text about Prince Charming, but somehow it doesn’t feel that way at all. 

So Derek busies himself by cleaning up the dishes he used and folding the blanket from the couch. He knows the pillow came off of Stiles’ bed but he can’t bring himself to put it back, it feels like too much of an invasion to just go into Stiles’ bedroom like that. He reads some, but his body feels too wired to sit around so the minute the clock hits 2:15 he gets in his car and drives to school. 

He’s parked in the Beacon Hills High School parking lot with his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leans back on the car while he waits for Stiles to emerge. When the bell rings he puts on his best I-mean-business face and waits. Derek is getting a weird thrill out of waiting here for him like he used to; doing his best to look angry and inconvenienced. He makes eye contact with no one, but he doesn’t miss the way the students who notice he’s standing there look at him. Fifteen minutes later he spots Stiles coming out the door deep in conversation with another teacher. Derek takes in the lean line of his body in his navy button up and grey slacks. He rolled his sleeves up at some point during the day, or they started out that way, Derek doesn’t know, but it works. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entire student body had a crush on _Mr. Stilinski_. And the beard really isn’t helping. 

Derek is standing there watching him when all the looks he’s gotten and comments he’s overheard since he arrived become worth it because the second Stiles sees him his face practically splits in two with how hard he begins laughing. He’s so loud that half the people outside the building turn to look at him, but he’s only staring back at Derek, the teacher he was talking to completely forgotten. 

And Derek begins laughing too, slowly he loses the stance he was putting on and sits back to lean against the hood of the car. His chest vibrating as he chuckles quietly to himself. 

“I nearly pissed myself for a second there,” Stiles is still laughing when he makes it to Derek. “God I missed your grumpyface.” 

He doesn’t think about what any of it means, and because Derek missed him too, he pulls Stiles into a hug. He smells like the school, and sweat, and hundreds of other people but Derek can still smell himself there, his and Stiles’ scents hiding underneath all of the others.

Stiles’ arms wrap around his middle and squeeze him tight against his body. Derek runs a hand up Stiles’ neck and lets his fingers slide above his hairline. Stiles turns his head a little and the sensation of their respective facial hair rubbing against each other feels like there’s a line that directly connects Stiles’ beard to Derek’s dick. Judging from the way Stiles shifts against him, he wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles was similarly affected. 

Someone clears their throat behind him, but it’s got a familiar lilt to it so Derek doesn’t rush, he just slowly untangles his hand from where it somehow made it’s way entirely into Stiles’ hair and relaxes his hold. Stiles pulls back too, pausing inches from Derek’s face, his eyes moving between Derek’s eyes and his mouth. Derek licks his bottom lip and Stiles shakes his head a little and huffs out a small laugh before stepping back completely. 

“Hey Allison,” Stiles says as he moves to the side so he’s not standing directly in front of Derek anymore. 

Derek turns his head expecting Allison to look exactly like her aunt, but she doesn’t. There’s a kindness there that Kate never had that makes Allison look kind and inviting even though Derek knows exactly what she’s capable of. 

“Derek, Scott said you were back. I almost didn’t believe him,” she’s smiling as she walks up closer to them. They don’t hug, but there’s an understanding there. “But then I saw Stiles plastered to this guy in the school parking lot, and I knew he was telling the truth.” 

Stiles squawks indignantly beside him. “I wasn’t plastered….” he says, but doesn’t go on because yeah, they were just full-body hugging in the parking lot for way longer than they should have been. 

“Do you work here too?” Derek asks, changing the subject. 

“She’s the Principal,” Stiles whispers conspiratorially. “You’re not going to fire me for PDA are you?”

Allison just shakes her head and smiles. “I thought you said you weren’t….”

“Right, yeah!” Stiles interrupts, glancing quickly at Derek before becoming very interested in straightening the strap on the bag he’s holding.

Derek can feel the back of his neck turning red. 

“Right,” Allison says as she bites her lip to keep from smiling. “I’m just gonna...You guys are coming to dinner tonight? 

“Yeah,” Derek answers. “We’ll be there.”

They end up at the grocery store because Derek wanted to bring something to Scott’s place to have with dinner, or maybe some flowers for Allison to show his appreciation. Stiles had rolled his eyes at his formality, but went with him anyway and directed them to a new fancier store across town. 

Stiles had left his jeep at the school for a chance to ride in Derek’s camaro again. “I thought you got rid of this thing?” Stiles asked as he ran his hand along the door before he opened it. God knows what memories he was recalling. “I just put her into storage; it was easier to blend in with a different car.” 

“I still have a jeep because once you go jeep you never go….actually sorry, there’s not a saying there,” Stiles said as he climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door with such a finality that it seemed like a punchline. Derek smiled as he opened the door and joined him, Stiles watching his every move. 

Which is all how they ended up walking through the produce section of the store with barely a hair’s breadth between them. He can see Stiles shooting him glances out of the corner of his eye as they silently weave their way past the other people picking up groceries at the end of the day. 

“What are you thinking?” Stiles asks as they push past a cluster of people waiting by the deli. 

Derek presses his hand to Stiles’ lower back to help move them forward, away from the people. “Maybe wine, but I don’t know if either of them drink.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “They don’t. None of us do, actually.”

Derek can’t help raise his eyebrow and stare at him. “I seem to recall you getting drunk in the woods on several occasions,” he reminds him. But Stiles just shrugs, “I was young then. Plus it lowers my guard too much, and the darkness…,” Stiles pauses to breathe. “We don’t drink.”

“Flowers it is then,” Derek says, purposely not delving into it. Maybe if they were somewhere else, but Derek has seen Stiles have panic attacks over less, and he knows from experience that having one in a shopping center is no fun. So he just rubs Stiles’ back a little where his hand is still guiding him through the store, and hopes he’s not crossing some type of line by his close proximity. Stiles gives him a grateful look and leans into him as they move; their bodies in sync. There’s a peaceful understanding building between them; it’s soft and Derek thinks it should feel fragile, but in reality it feels like something is fortifying there between the layers of their clothes.

There are looks of recognition, of course. Everyone knows who Stiles is from his father being the Sheriff for all those years, and while not as many people remember Derek he can see curious eyes falling on him, darting from him, to Stiles, to Derek’s hand on his back. 

There is a section off in the corner of the shop that has flowers in bouquets, baskets, or a selection of ones where you can build your own bouquet. Derek remembers how much his mother loved getting flowers from guests coming over for dinner. He breathes in the floral scent surrounding them. 

“Maybe lavender…,” Derek says to himself as he drops his hand and goes over to where there are some lavender stalks mixed in with some other wildflowers. 

He can see Stiles moving in and out of his peripheral vision as he looks at the other arrangements. Derek takes his time and chooses a few bundles that look simple and beautiful, they remind him of Allison. 

“Really?” Stiles says as he comes back over, his chest pressed to the back of Derek’s shoulder. “You’re bringing them a bouquet of wolfsbane look-a-likes?”

Derek looks down at the flowers in his hand; he never looked at him that way before, and yet hearing it out loud doesn’t change how he feels about them. They’ve always reminded him of summer and light. He turns his head to look back at Stiles before shrugging. “They’re nice,” is all he says. 

Stiles laughs once and as if on impulse kisses him. It’s not that hard really, their faces were only a few inches away to begin with. But as Derek registers the press of Stiles’ lips against his own, Stiles seems to realize what he’s doing and pulls back. Derek can feel the heat coming off of Stiles’ body, can see his fingers twitching with energy out of the corner of his eye, this ghost of uncertainty falls across Stiles’ face, and he just can’t have that. 

It takes less than three seconds for Derek to grab Stiles’ hand and press their mouths back together. He can feel Stiles smile against him as he slips all the way in front of Derek so he’s not awkwardly off to the side any longer. Derek breathes in deep as he shifts his body along with Stiles and brings the arm holding the flowers around his back to press their bodies together. It’s perfect as Stiles grabs the fabric of Derek’s shirt at his side and gasps. 

The grip Stiles has on Derek’s hand grows tighter as he opens his mouth further. All Derek can taste or smell is Stiles, and he can’t help the low rumble of desire that comes from his chest. He has yearned so badly for this and now that it’s happening he wants to make it last. His breathing feels uneven as Stiles’ tongue presses up against his, his beard’s contrasting roughness against his lips. 

“I always imagined I’d catch you boys doing this, but here? Really?” 

They freeze in place and Derek takes quick stock of their position. 

Their fingers are still tangled together on one hand, which is innocent enough, but somewhere along the way one of Stiles’ legs ended up pressed just in between Derek’s. Stiles’ other hand is so tightly wound in Derek’s shirt that he can feel his nails digging a little into his side, while Derek is still holding a bundle of flowers in the arm he was using to press Stiles up against him. 

Okay, so maybe it’s a little compromising. 

“You remember Derek Hale, right dad?” Stiles says, his voice breathless. Derek can feel the words on his face because Stiles hasn’t actually pulled back yet, they’ve basically just stopped kissing in order to respond. Stiles’ eyes are bright and _right there_ , Derek knows that he had a part in getting that lightness back in them and it uncoils something in his chest until he and Stiles are smiling at each other like idiots. 

“Hello, sir,” Derek says, finally turning his head to look at the Sheriff. 

“Imagine my surprise when Mrs. Livingston tells me she just saw my son and his young man in here,” he tells them, obviously trying to keep the amusement out of his voice at having caught them kissing in the floral department. “I wasn’t aware you had a _young man_ , Stiles.” 

“I won’t let you fluster me, dad. I’m a grown-up now,” Stiles declares, but the death-grip he has on Derek’s hand has gotten even tighter if that was even humanly possible. 

“Right,” his dad draws out. “Good to see you, Derek. What brings you back to town?” 

This can go two ways, Derek thinks. He can be honest or lie, but Stiles’ father just caught him with his tongue in Stiles’ mouth and so he decides to go with honesty because while he might be in his thirties now, he’s not stupid in thinking that the Sheriff probably still knows places to hide his body. 

“Stiles asked me to come home,” Derek says, not breaking eye contact with the former Sheriff. 

Stiles makes a small noise beside him, and when he speaks his voice is higher than normal. “You came home because I asked?” 

Derek looks back at Stiles but doesn’t miss the quiet “oh brother” that comes from Stiles’ dad. 

“Well, yeah,” Derek tells him, and he can feel the way Stiles’ heart rate ticks up at the admission. 

“Sorry dad, but I’m going to need you to look away,” is out of Stiles’ mouth faster than anything Derek has ever heard him say before, and then Stiles is kissing him again. Their mouths are opening against each other as their tongues press and touch together. Stiles’ free hand has abandoned its post wrapped in Derek’s shirt and is now cupping the back of his neck, guiding the kiss where he wants it and Derek is letting him. 

Derek barely registers an exhale and then the “It’s good to see you, Derek. I’ll let Scott know you’re going to be late,” from Stiles’ dad before he turns on his heel and walks swiftly away from them. 

Stiles starts laughing then, lowering his head to run his nose along Derek’s neck. “ _Fuck_ ,” Derek mutters as he feels his cock twitch in his jeans. “Don’t scent me in public, Stiles.” 

“Oh was I?” Stiles innocently turns his head like he’s confused, but his eyes are full of mischievous. “I hadn’t realized you would like that.” 

Derek wonders for the second time that day how this has become his life, when a small elderly voice behind them says, “Are you going to pay for those flowers?” 

When they finally arrive at Scott’s house there are six cars parked outside. “Quiet dinner at Scott’s, huh,” Derek deadpans as he pulls up to the house. 

“What, they missed you!” Stiles says, gesturing to all the cars. 

Derek tilts his head, closes his eyes, and listens for a moment. “You’re saying that Chris Argent missed me?” Derek says, leveling Stiles with a look. 

“One,” Stiles begins, “I’m not even going to ask how you could sense him in there, yet couldn’t tell when my _dad_ was two feet away from us earlier. And two, is it wrong that I’m kind of turned on right now?” Stiles ends, grimacing a little. He always did have a thing for when any of them could successfully scent something from far away, or pick up on a heartbeat. “It’s not wrong,” Derek tells him, leaning in close. “I almost lost it yesterday when you could sense Scott before he got to the house.” 

“Shit, that’s hot,” Stiles whispers before closing the distance between them. 

When Derek pulls back Stiles’ teeth rake across his bottom lip. Derek can feel the slight indentation from where Stiles used his teeth on him; he runs his tongue along the inside of his lip and watches as Stiles’ eyes trace the movement. 

“We should go in,” Derek whispers, his own eyes locking on Stiles’ lips. 

“Or we could go back to my place and have sex?” Stiles suggests as he cups Derek’s face. He’s rubbing his thumb back and forth across Derek’s stubble, and Derek wonders how Stiles became so dangerous because he is seriously considering putting the car back in drive and speeding away. 

“I don’t want your father thinking bad of me,” Derek tells him. He uses the few seconds of Stiles’ surprised snort to lean forward to rub his cheek along Stiles’ neck. 

“Ughhh, fine,” Stiles groans. “I’m only letting this pass because that was extremely sweet and your beard is very persuasive.” 

“My beard?” Derek asks, leveling Stiles with a heated look. “Do you have no idea what you look like?” 

“Oh my god, yeah, we need to get out of the car right now or we’ll never make it inside,” Stiles says, pushing the door open and hopping out. Derek grabs the flowers he bought and slowly makes it up to the front door as Stiles knocks twice and walks right in. 

Allison appears in the doorway, smiling at him as he reaches the door. “Thanks for having me,” he says, holding up the flowers for her. “These are for you.” 

“I’m glad you came,” she says and her smile widens at the flowers. “These are beautiful, thank you.” Allison is smelling the flowers as she turns to lead him into the house. “Make yourself at home,” she tells him before jetting into the kitchen to put the flowers in some water. 

Stiles is standing right inside the entryway waiting for him. “You ready for this?” he asks, his face serious. 

Derek nods and follows Stiles into the living room. 

He doesn’t know what he was worried about, because the second he turns the corner everyone’s happiness at seeing him overpowers any doubts he had. Part of him wonders if there’s a cruel joke going on because he’s never seen people this happy to see him before. Ever. But when he sees the smile on Isaac’s face and feels their bond spike between them, he knows it’s all real. He might not be an alpha anymore, but he still is the one who bit Isaac and bonds like that don’t fade. 

“Derek,” Isaac says before pulling him into a hug. “You’re back.” 

“Sorry I was gone for so long,” he whispers to him, low enough that he knows nobody else will pick up on it. 

Isaac squeezes his arm as he pulls back. “Welcome home,” he says before shuffling over to stand beside Stiles. “Think you got enough of your scent on him?” he whispers to Stiles, but Derek hears it and can he can hear Scott smother a laugh in the kitchen. 

Stiles’ dad and Chris Argent shake his hand, while Melissa gives him a kiss on the cheek. It’s only then that Scott comes in with one of his daughters up on his shoulders. She looks about five years old, with dark curly hair like her mother. 

“Hey Derek!” Scott says, still as enthusiastic as ever. “Meet April,” he says before lifting his daughter off his shoulders and setting her down in between the two of them. 

Derek squats down on his haunches before speaking. “It’s nice to meet you April,” he says, his voice going soft. He’s missed having children around; they’re good for a pack. 

“Hi,” she speaks quietly, but her eyes are focused like she’s memorizing everything about him. “My little sister is sleeping. We’re being quiet so we don’t wake her up.” 

“I can be quiet,” he whispers to her before standing back up. 

“Maybe she should have told Stiles that,” the Sheriff mutters from across the room. 

“I heard that!” Stiles yells, then immediately clamps his hand over his mouth. “Right. Point taken.” 

Dinner is homemade and delicious. Derek is seated between Stiles and Scott, and everybody is happy and eating around them. By the time they’re done with dessert Derek is leaning back in his chair with his hand resting on Stiles’ thigh, warm and happy and content. Two days ago he was alone and eating some crappy chinese take-out while he sat on his bed and watched television. Now, he can feel the pack bonds awakening inside of himself as the night wears on. 

People start to drop off as it gets late. The parents all leave, “Don’t be a stranger,” Stiles’ dad tells Derek as he pats him on the shoulder, and Isaac is sleeping in the living room with Scott’s youngest asleep on his chest. Scott and Allison are upstairs checking on April and the night is so quiet, so quiet.

Derek is standing in the kitchen with his eyes closed, his body resting just slightly against the refrigerator when he hears Stiles walk in. He opens his eyes to look at him, and notices he’s rolled the sleeves down on his shirt, but didn’t button the cuffs. It’s such a familiar thing and Derek can picture countless times when the pack was researching late at night, or when Derek had sneaked into Stiles room in the early hours of the morning to find him with his sleeves like that with his hands curled up inside of his sleeves, that it makes him realize that even though they’ve lost years together the little things don’t change. 

Stiles looks tired but content as he strides right up into Derek’s space and leans forward to press their foreheads together. It’s so close, intimate in a way that Derek hasn’t experienced in a long time, maybe ever, so he closes his eyes again and just breathes in and out.

“I missed you,” Stiles breathes out, almost too quiet for even Derek to pick up.

He opens his eyes and Stiles is right there, his own eyes open and watching. Derek doesn’t even think as he shifts his head mere inches until his mouth is pressing softly against Stiles’.

The kiss says hi, and let me stay forever, but most importantly, I missed you too.

Derek can feel Stiles breathe deep as he wraps his arms around Derek and presses them both backwards so their bodies are flush against each other as they use the refrigerator to keep them upright.

“Let’s go home,” Derek speaks quietly, as if saying it any louder would make Stiles laugh in his face because he’s inserting himself somewhere he has no right to. Stiles’ home isn’t his home, but he wants so badly for it to be. Stiles’ affirmative nod in response quiets some of the fear, though. 

They gather up their belongings, and Derek hugs Scott goodbye while Stiles pulls his shoes back on. It’s got a peacefulness to it that Derek wants to grasp ahold of. He’s forgotten what life could really be like, and now that he’s experienced it again, even if it’s just been a day and a half, he doesn’t want to let it go. 

As Derek slides his hand into Stiles’ as they walk out to the car he feels shy for some reason. He wouldn’t put it past Stiles for him to be able to hear his heart beat out an uneven rhythm in his chest. In the car Stiles holds his hand on top of the gear shift; just a quiet reminder that he’s there, that they’re there together. 

The ride back to Stiles’ house is spent in easy silence. There’s a calmness between them that didn’t used to be there. 

He meets Stiles’ eyes as he puts the car into park. Stiles meets his gaze and holds it with a seriousness that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago. “Do you want to come in?” he asks, his voice low with intent. 

“Yes,” Derek answers, nodding minutely. “I do.” 

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion; the smile on Stiles’ lips, the hand slowly running through his hair as the leaves that are rustling in the trees outside the window make the moonlight shift on his body. 

“You’re beautiful,” Derek whispers. 

“Come on,” Stiles says, a blush on his cheek as he fumbles to unbuckle his seat belt. 

It’s almost all too easy to fall into each other once they’re inside the house. Derek lets Stiles back him through the darkened living room, before putting his hands on his waist and turning him around so they could go up the staircase. Derek feels a shiver go up his back as Stiles loops his fingers through the belt loops on the back of his jeans to follow closely behind him. 

He ascends the steps slowly, not wanting to rush anything, especially not this. 

Derek stops at the top of the stairs and turns to kiss Stiles. He gasps as Stiles runs his fingers up underneath his shirt; his fingertips feel electric against the skin on his back, like a spark igniting between them. Something about it urges Derek on and he grasps Stiles’ biceps and pulls him roughly against his body. There’s a low groan from Stiles, but then he’s pulling back. 

“My bedroom is like ten feet from here. I don’t want to fall down the steps while I’m trying to get your pants off,” he says in a rush before turning towards his room. Derek watches him go about five steps before following. 

Turning around to face Derek, Stiles locks eyes with him and begins unbuttoning his shirt. Derek’s eyes flick down to Stiles’ fingers. They’re still long and thin, and Derek wants them inside of him. He looks back up at Stiles as his own fingers flip the button open on his jeans. 

“That’s my job,” Stiles tells him, his voice admonishing. 

Derek smiles and pulls his shirt up and off, letting it drop on the ground beside him. He toes off his shoes before stalking forward to where Stiles paused his work unbuttoning his shirt to watch. Derek replaces Stiles’ hands with his own and finishes opening up his shirt. There are new scars and a small tattoo under his ribs, but all questions about them fly out of his head when Stiles’ fingers grab hold of the fly on Derek’s jeans and pull down the zipper.

It’s like a flip is switched between them and suddenly everything is happening in double time. 

Stiles slips his fingers into the opening in Derek’s pants and rubs against his hard length. 

“Ahh,” Derek sighs, allowing his hips to flex forward as he grabs Stiles’ hips and brings their mouths together. 

There’s no time for finesse. All Derek can do is kiss, and bite, and and savor the shaking tremor the runs through Stiles’ body when he runs his tongue along the shell of his ear. Stiles leans his head back and moans loudly before dropping to his knees, and in one fluid movement takes the rest of Derek’s clothes down with him. 

A muttered curse reaches Derek’s ears seconds before Stiles runs his tongue along the groove in Derek’s hip, nipping at the taut skin. His beard rubs against his skin causing a rush of goosebumps to arise across his body. Slowly Stiles lifts Derek’s leg to help him step out of his clothing completely, one leg, then the next. 

With Stiles fully clothed and kneeling before his naked form, Derek palms his own erection and takes a deep breath because the picture they make here in the dark is all too much. Stiles is looking up at him and waits to catch his eye again before leaning forward to mouth his way across every inch of skin from hip to hip. 

Stiles bites and scents just as much as Derek does, knowing full and well what it means. And it takes everything Derek has to stop him, and haul him up from underneath his armpits, pushing him back onto the bed. His open shirt falls open further revealing his entire torso; his chest is heaving with anticipation. Derek licks and sucks one of Stiles’ nipples into his mouth. 

“Fuck!” Stiles yells, arching up off the bed. When he does so Derek can feel his erection through his slacks pressing against his abdomen. 

“Hmm,” Derek hums against his skin, tracing his fingers along Stiles’ side and hooking into the top of his pants. Stiles lifts his hips as Derek mimics Stiles’ move from earlier and slides back, taking his clothing with him. Naked before him, Derek looks at the plane of his body. 

Stiles is stretched out prone before him, his arms above his head, hands gripping at nothing. Like this his body looks just as lithe as it did all those years ago. Derek’s hands find Stiles’ thighs, fingers grazing along the inside of them, discovering a few moles he never knew existed.

Derek travels his body, his nose buried at the base of his cock, leaving a kiss before traveling north. Stiles’ arms have relaxed, his entire body melting underneath Derek. Everything is warm and perfect. Derek places a kiss in Stiles’ armpit, light and barely there. It causes Stiles to smile and bring one arm over to cover his eyes. 

He never in his life thought he’d be so lucky to have something like this. 

Biting at Stiles’ jaw, Derek practically purrs when Stiles drops his hand into his hair and scratches his fingers back and forth. Stiles is destroying him with each movement. There’s a sense of love to his actions, a feeling that he’s just as affected by this as Derek is and it’s terrifying. 

“How do you,” Stiles gasps as Derek rolls them so that Stiles is on top of him. “How do you want to do this?” 

“I want you inside of me,” Derek says, spreading his legs wide. “I want to feel you everywhere.” 

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters as he hitches a leg up under Derek’s thigh and kisses him deep. Derek can taste his scent on Stiles’ breath, their scents slowly becoming one. And fuck if Derek doesn’t want to bury his face deep in as close to Stiles as he can get. 

“Come up here,” Derek begs, scooting down a little so his head is off the pillow. 

Stiles’ mouth falls open as he raises up on his knees. He moves up Derek’s chest until his erection is nearly flush with his face, but that’s not what Derek wants. Using his strength, Derek lifts Stiles the few inches up over his face until his nose is buried behind his balls. He can feel him trembling above him with the first flick of his tongue against Stiles’ opening. 

This is what Derek wanted, what he needed, pure untainted Stiles. 

He works his tongue back and forth until he feels Stiles begin to relax a little above him. Derek can tell he’s trying not to roll his hips, but Derek wants him to ride his face, so he grasps Stiles hips and rocks him back and forth against his tongue. 

Three short quick gasps spill out of Stiles’ mouth and then he’s rolling his hips against Derek’s tongue as he fucks up into him. Derek growls and Stiles cries out, “Derek! Derek, you’re… shit… you’re going to need to stop that if you want me to fuck you.” 

Derek takes one more swipe with his tongue before helping Stiles back up onto his shaking knees. He’s breathing hard when Stiles moves off of his body and leans over to grab the lube out of the bedside table. 

Stiles smiles up at him as he situates himself in between Derek’s legs, his long fingers glistening. Derek spreads his legs further, bending his knees as he plants his feet on the bed. He smiles back as Stiles rests his cheek against Derek’s knee for a moment and just looks at him. Reaching out with his hand, Derek beckons Stiles forward. He cups Stiles’ face and kisses him, relishing in the feel of Stiles’ scruff against the palm of his hand. It’s a visceral reminder of how much time has passed. 

He can feel Stiles press a slick finger against his hole as they’re kissing. Stiles feels hot above him as his hand works between Derek’s legs; the pressure and the stretching make his body move involuntarily under the weight of Stiles. 

“Do it,” Derek breathes out. “Please.” 

Derek’s breath hitches as Stiles runs his nose from the base of Derek’s neck to behind his ear before sitting back. “You smell so good,” Stiles says as he runs a hand down his own shaft, slicking himself up. “Have you always smelled this good?” 

“You’ve always smelled amazing to me,” Derek admits, not really having an answer for Stiles’ question. 

Stiles is staring at him and Derek can see the wheels turning in his brain. 

“I want you to ride me,” Stiles tells him matter-of-factly before lying down on his back next to Derek. 

It takes Derek no time at all to roll over on top of him, his thighs bracketing Stiles’ hips. He reaches back and realizes as his hand takes a hold of Stiles’ erection that he hadn’t touched him before now. He makes a mental note to touch and taste him everywhere, but for now he’s focusing on the feel of his hand around Stiles’ dick, and Stiles’ hand over his guiding him in. 

He inches down until he’s fully seated himself on Stiles. They’re both breathing hard; Derek doesn’t even remember the last time he felt like this. He’s so alive and it feels like his entire body is waking up from years of neglect. 

“Stiles,” he whispers, his voice broken. 

“I know,” Stiles says. “I know.”

Derek rolls his hips slowly, getting use to the feel of Stiles hard inside of him. Stiles’ nails are digging into his hips as he tries to let Derek have a couple minutes to adjust. He wants nothing more than for Stiles’ nail imprints to stay on his skin, but he knows they’ll be gone soon. 

So he snaps his hips hard, surging them both into action. The first real thrust from Stiles sends his back arching as he reaches out to find something, anything, to anchor himself to. Stiles grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. 

They’re meeting each other thrust for thrust, Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand as he leans forward to rest his other hand on the bed next to Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles surges up to kiss him, it’s hard and bracing, and his pace falters when he squeezes the back of Derek’s neck as holds him there, mouths open, panting against each other. 

“I think,” Stiles pants, pausing to lick once over Derek’s lips. “I’m close.” 

“Come in me,” Derek tells him. “Please.”

“Fuck,” Stiles grunts, and begins fucking into Derek hard. 

Derek can’t stop the yell that comes out of him. He sits back up and lets himself feel every hard thrust from Stiles. The sounds coming out of his mouth don’t even sound familiar to him any longer. He can feel his own release getting closer, his breath is hitching as sweat runs down his back. 

His eyes lock on Stiles’ and they’re still staring intently at each other when Stiles comes. Derek can feel it fill him, the sensation and the fact that it’s _Stiles_ , sends him over the edge. He comes untouched onto Stiles torso. 

He braces himself over Stiles, trying to catch his breath. Stiles is doing the same. 

“I want you to stay,” Stiles tells him, his voice sounds vulnerable. “I need you to stay.” Stiles’ lips are certain against his, like they had been waiting for this moment, this confession, for years. 

“Jesus,” Derek breathes out, his hands are shaking as he cups Stiles’ face. “I won’t leave you again.”

They collapse against each other, legs and arms intertwined. Derek kisses the hollow of Stiles’ throat, licking a drop of sweat that’s cooling there. Derek notices he’s got beard burn on his collarbone, but doesn’t remember it happening. He’s not even sure how it hasn’t healed yet. But then Stiles shifts a little to envelope Derek more solidly, and nothing else matters as they drift off. 

Much later, when it’s quiet between them, both awake and just there together, Stiles speaks up. 

“Why did you go? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Stiles asks, his voice is rough. He’s got a hand grasping Derek’s forearm, but in a way that suggests he’s using it more as an anchor than anything else.

Derek swallows, his throat feels dry. “You needed a real life. A chance at something normal.” Derek knows it sounds cheesy as he says it, but it’s the truth.

“I’ll never be normal, Derek,” Stiles says quietly. “Not after everything, you know that better than anybody. There’s no going back after something like that.” 

And he does know.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers, letting his hand come up to rest on Stiles’ shoulder. “What you guys have here though,” Derek pauses, trying to figure out how to say what he feels. “It’s… It’s everything. You want to know why I came back? I came back because I wanted you, I needed to be around you even if it meant you didn’t want me. I couldn’t get you out of my head.” 

“And then I asked you to come back,” Stiles adds. 

Derek nods. “You asked me to come back.” 

When Derek wakes up in the morning he’s not wondering how he got here, or how this is his life anymore. He knows exactly what led him there. It began with Stiles, that day in the woods, so many years ago. They worked together and suffered together, kept each other alive and comforted one another. They scratched and fought their way to some type of peace, and when the time was right Stiles lead him back home.

He doesn’t need to dream of Stiles anymore, Derek thinks as he drops him off at the school a couple hours later. But he will; he’ll dream of what’s to come. And as Stiles leans over to kiss him goodbye, their lips lingering together, unwilling to depart, Derek tries not to remember the past as pain, but as something that brought him to where he is now.


End file.
